


Three Things Not Long Hidden

by Polly_Lynn



Series: Without Number [3]
Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They're fumbling toward normal under the most bizarre circumstances possible. He's trying to follow her lead here." Set during "Boom" (2 x 18), a continuation of the series that begins with "One is One." This follows the second story, "Two by Two."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I didn't know I was going to write this.

"Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth."

— Attributed to the Buddha

* * *

  
  
  
He improvises an errand once he has her home. A run to the store for things they don't really need. Nothing she's asked for, because she hasn't asked for anything. She won't. He knows she won't, and he's trying to give her space.

She's here. At least she's here.

They're fumbling toward normal under the most bizarre circumstances possible. He's trying to follow her lead here. Kind of. He's shutting himself down. He's trying to, anyway.

His own instincts are to go big. To spend and fix and present with a flourish. He's pretty sure his own instincts will get him killed.

They almost have once tonight. It was close at the precinct. A brush with death for him. Metaphorical. Mostly metaphorical.

_Thank you, Castle, but I couldn_ _'_ _t._

_You can and you will._

He doesn't know what possessed him. Except he knows _exactly_ what possessed him.

Her.

He tells himself it makes no difference, and it's true. He tells himself that one night in her bed isn't what has him rushing headlong to fix this. To keep her safe. And it isn't.

He's felt this way for a long while. What happened last night—two nights ago now, because this day has gone on and on and on—that's timing and nothing more. A door they'd cracked open, completely unexpected and wholly inevitable when he kissed her. When she kissed him back and they wound up in her bed. Backward and after the fact. Because that's how they do things, apparently.

Sleeping together—making liars of them both less than a day after Jordan was sure she'd caught them out—it's the least of it. Knowing what she tastes like. How young she looks when she dreams. Exactly how foul a mouth she has on her and what she can do with it. The way she whipsaws between control and collusion. It's the least of all this.

It's not even that he spent the worst minutes of his life thinking he'd just watched her die. The worst minutes of his life trying to get his body to move. To get to her. _Now. Faster. My God, Kate._

It's all the least of what he's feeling. What he'd do for her and why every instinct of his is dangerous. Why space is a good idea.

_Not never. Just . . . not now._

She promised. He believes her. He knows her, and however she feels, whatever she is or isn't ready for, he believes that she cares for him in her way. That she is good to the core of her, and whatever they've been or are or will be someday, they're both well past the games they might have started with.

He knows all the reasons that _not now_ makes sense. Why putting a name to whatever this is between them needs to wait. There's been a body on her doorstep and her home in flames since then. A maniac still trying to kill her, and whatever anyone says, it's because of him. She's off the case and out on the streets.

Except she's not. She's sitting at his table, sipping cocoa with his daughter and . . . sizing him up. She's fixing him with a secret little smile no one else would recognize. The one that says she has something on him.

Space was a terrible idea.

* * *

He goes to bed. It's an odd thing to do. Stupid. There's no chance he'll sleep, and usually he wouldn't bother. He'd pace or fire up the xBox or raid the fridge. He'd write or flip through endless channels until he found _To Catch a Thief._ Because if years of insomnia have taught him anything, it's that _To Catch a Thief_ is always playing somewhere.

But he goes to bed like it's safer. Like he's less prone to do something stupid with the knowledge that she's tucked away in his guest room, wrapped up borrowed clothes and sheets he tugged to hospital corners.

It's a worse idea than giving her space.

She's all he can think about. He's crazy with it in more ways than he can count.

He's excited. Pulse-racing, stomach-flipping excited when he thinks of the moment she kissed him back. The way she held his hand tight. Stole a moment for them and asked if he was ready. Let him kiss her and grinned into when he said no. _Me neither._

He's paralyzed. Desperate and breathless when he remembers she could have died. He could have lost her. That he could still lose her in an instant. To this case or the next. To Dunn or to anyone. To accident or chance or malice. He could lose her to anything.

_Any day of the week_.

He's frantic. Bloodless and staring into the darkness. Frantic when he realizes that this is the rest of his life. That he doesn't want to waste another second with her.

* * *

He's sneaking through the loft. It's a worse idea than space and going to bed put together, but he has to see her.

_Not now_.

He knows. He _knows_. But there has to be something between _not now_ and nothing at all. Because it's the dead of night and he's frantic and it's _never_ if he loses her.

His footsteps are deafening. It's ridiculous. It's not like he keeps regular hours. It's not as though Alexis and his mother don't _expect_ him to come and go at all hours. To never come home at all some nights, and to wear out the floorboards now and again even when he does.

But he can't _not_ sneak, somehow. He's bad at it after all this time. He's running into everything. He's tripping and stubbing his toes and stepping on sharp things that aren't there. He's groping his way through rooms he's navigated drunk and running on coffee and freely flowing chapters and no sleep stretching out before and after him. It's ridiculous.

He's gliding by Alexis's room when he hears something. He _swears_ he hears something and almost turns tail. He flattens himself against the wall and presses his hand to his heart, willing it to _shut up,_ because it's the loudest thing in the world.

It feels like forever. He waits and waits, but silence reigns. The restless find rest, and the phantom noise dies away. He navigates the last few feet of the hallway, miraculously without incident.

He's at the door— _her_ door—before he realizes he has no plan at all. He can't exactly knock. His mother's room is right _there_ and his kid's room is right _there_ and the eternity of the last three minutes have taught him that this loft is a fucking _cavernous_ free-for-all when it comes to sound.

And what if she's asleep? She deals with this all the time, right? Near-death experiences and men falling at her feet. She's probably sprawled out and dreaming.

He can't knock.

He can't exactly _not_ knock, either, because she definitely sleeps with a gun. He thinks inanely about texting her, but her phone blew up, didn't it? Everything else blew up, he thinks, and he's paralyzed again. His breath leaves him and he might just die right here. It's a better plan than space or going to bed or sneaking through the loft with no plan at all.

Dying is the best of his options, but his hand is somehow on the doorknob. He's paralyzed but it's turning. The door is swinging inward and taking him with it.

He lets go just in time to stumble. Just in time to pull up one inch from her. _Kate._

" _Castle?"_

It's a perfect whisper. It's clear and practically soundless and it curls his toes because she's _good_ at this. Because it's her job to sneak around, and he has such an unbelievable, giant _crush_ on her. Along with everything else, he has a crush.

"Kate. What are you doing?"

It's loud. It's too loud. He winces and wonders if she'll teach him how to whisper.

"What am _I_ doing?"

It's still perfect, even though she's blinking in surprise. Even though she's baffled and unsure and her cheeks are turning pink. Even though she's stealing glances up at him and her fingers are toying with the hem of her shirt, and he realizes she's nervous. That she's acting like she's the one who's been caught.

She is. She has. Their eyes meet and he realizes. They're both caught.

_Not never._

His heart is pounding again. His breath is barely there. He gets the whisper right this time.

"Kate. Can I come in?"

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's alive and she's here and he has to kiss her. It's as simple as that." Second and final chapter of this two-shot sequel to "One is One" and "Two by Two."
> 
> * * *

There's a noise in the hall. Real or imagined, it galvanizes them both. He pushes further into the room. She shoves him back.

"Castle!" She hisses his name through her teeth, and there's something satisfying about the fact that it's _not_ the perfect whisper. The fact that it's breathy and flustered and she's pressing one hand to her stomach like she's trying to keep butterflies in check.

He kisses her. He'd like to say it's a plan, because that is definitely Alexis's door opening, and it is definitely _not now_ when it comes to explaining to his kid what, exactly, he's doing skulking around their houseguest's room in the middle of the night.

He'd like to say he knows it's the quickest way to get them both safely out of sight before they're pitched headlong into all that, but it's nothing of the kind. Her palm hits the center of his chest and the low light in the hall outlines the curve of her cheek. Her ribs rise and fall and he sees the pulse pounding in her neck.

She's alive and she's here and he has to kiss her. It's as simple as that.

It seems to be simple for her, too. No hesitation at all. She kisses him back, even though she's annoyed. Part of her is annoyed. A little cruel in the way she breaks from his mouth and her teeth catch the skin just under his jaw. In the way one hand fists in his shirt to jerk him further into the room and the other gives the knob an expert twist as she eases the door closed almost silently.

Almost.

"Dad?"

She freezes. Her eyes are wide and panicked. He wants to laugh. He's never, _ever_ seen her look so thoroughly caught out.

"Shhhh." He places a finger to her lips. Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches. He leans in to hover at her ear. Closer than he needs to be, really. Not nearly as close as he'd like to be when he feels her pulse pick up again. "Shhhh. She's not really awake."

" _Dad!"_ It's louder this time. Grumpy, though.

"She _sounds_ awake." It's another imperfect hiss, steel in it this time. Overkill. She bats his fingers away She's not just annoyed with him. She's annoyed with _herself._

"Trust me." He pulls back a little to catch her eye, and there's sudden weight to the words he didn't intend. But something softens in her. She loosens the fingers still clutching his shirt. She tips her head to the side, and he sees that she does. She _does_ trust him with things more life and death than this. He's giddy and awed with it. And a little embarrassed. A little overwhelmed, because life and death isn't that far behind them. Words are tripping out of his mouth when he _really_ wishes they wouldn't. "It's this whole kind of zombie thing. Sound sleeper. She can make cereal without really waking up."

On cue, the thump of a slamming door sounds from the hall. Heavy, shambling footsteps retreat, and the headboard thuds against the shared wall.

"Cereal," she says. She's fighting a smile.

"And chocolate milk." He nods. He's not bothering to fight. "Not toast. We've lost a trivets over the years. And toasters."

"You're making that up." She tries to scowl, but she's grinning, too. She's lost that particular battle, and _oh boy_ is he in trouble, because it's adorable. He's in several different kinds of trouble.

"I'm making that up," he says quickly. He owns it cheerfully. It's far from the worst admission he could make right now. "Not the cereal. Or the zombie part."

"What're you doing here, Castle?" She's self-conscious suddenly. The flirty little moment evaporates. She tugs her hands back. One flies to her hair, the other to smooth the oversized t-shirt down her hips. Like she's just remembered where she is. Where they are and why.

 _Why._ It hits him. Another wave of memory. Smoke and the dead wall of sound inside his head.

"What were _you_ doing?" he blurts out. It's weak as retorts go. It doesn't help that he sounds like a panicky ninth grader. He presses his lips together against the very real possibility that any minute now, he'll scuff the floor with his toe and ask if she _like_ likes him because he _really_ likes her and he is _not ok_ with people trying to blow her up.

"What was _I_ doing? In the guest room you insisted I take you up on?" She gives him a flat look.

He's half afraid his inner monologue wasn't quite as inner as he might have hoped.

"You were sneaking." He jabs a finger in her direction. He just manages to pull it back before he loses it. "You were about to sneak," he amends quickly before she can protest on a technicality.

"I was . . . " She bites her lip.

There are a hundred excuses she could make. A glass of water. A bathroom run. A lone wolf mission to take down the psycho who blew up her apartment. Naked midnight subway ride. A hundred excuses, but she looks up at him with eyes that shimmer in the dim light. She bites her lip.

"I wanted to see if you were ok." He rushes through the words. He bites his tongue and wishes . . . . _oh, the hell with it . . ._ "I wanted to see you."

She smiles. It breaks wide all over her face and her eyes crinkle at the corners.

She's pretty. The thought skitters across his mind as the moments tugs them closer. She's beautiful. She's gorgeous and dead sexy and _hot._ He knows all that. But it's this pretty girl with clean-scrubbed skin and her hair curling wildly around her face that's dangerous. The one who's biting her lip against even a little white lie right now.

Their bodies drift together. Their mouths meet. It's a slow, patient, _delicious_ burn between them. He's thinking again how different this is from how he thought it would go when she breaks the kiss, just briefly, to whisper, "I wanted to see you, too."

His hands alight everywhere. Her jaw to tilt her mouth to his. Her hair to feel it fall through his fingers. Her shoulder blades to gather her close. Hers are an anchor, firm at his hips, fixing the two of them to this spot.

They kiss like this is a doorstep. Like there's a streetlight that doesn't quite reach them and it's past curfew. Like any minute, high above, someone might throw open a sashed window and call out for Katie. They kiss like they're saying their first goodnight.

"You're shivering." He murmurs into the kiss like it's a profound discovery. It is. She shivers for him. It's . . . amazing.

"Cold," she says. That's a little white lie. She grins into it. She stamps it with her lips to the corner of his mouth. With the drag of her softer cheek along his. "You keep it too cold in here, Castle."

"Could get in bed," he notes reasonably. "Warm in bed."

She pulls away. She glares, but it's too late. Her eyes flick to the bed and he sees. He presses.

He walks her backward. One step. Two. Three. "I'll be a gentleman."

She laughs at that. A sharp, sweet sound of delight she pours right into his mouth.

"Joanie and Chachi, then." He says it quickly. Regrets it instantly when she pulls further back still to fix him with a quizzical look. "One foot on the floor? _Happy Days?"_

"You realize I was like . . . four when that show went off the air?"

"I'm not really worried about your cultural illiteracy right now." He kisses her lazily. He drags his nails up her spine and takes advantage when she arches into him. He crowds her back another few steps. "Or checking for ID."

" _Castle._ "

She's pleading a little, but hanging on, too. Her fingers are hooked around his hip. Fluttering at the underside of his ribs. The edge of the bed hits the back of her knees. She's already falling and tugging him along with her. It's clumsy. They knock knees and their feet tangle. The heel of her hand lands hard on his hip and jerks against it, tumbling into her. They wind up face to face and breathless.

"You have to go." She kisses him. Lingering, tiny things while her fingers dance across his skin. "Castle, you have to _go._ "

"You're usually more convincing than this," he murmurs as he shifts to draw her calf further between his own. "Not sure you mean it, Beckett."

"I do." She groans into his mouth. "Castle."

He pulls back, just a little. Uncertainty creeps in from nowhere. "Because . . . " He brushes the hair back from her forehead. Panics and drops his gaze to her shoulder. To the pillow plumped up absurdly behind her. "Because this . . . _here . . ._ is weird, right?"

Her fingers stall at his collar. She does a double take. "Yes, Castle." She tugs at his hair. She makes him look at her. "Because your kid is next door and it's a little weird."

"Ok." He's smiling again. Kissing her. His mood rebounds just like that and the up and down of all this is probably another reason he should go. Another reason for _not now._ "I should go."

"You should go," she echoes as her mouth slides away from his and her tongue peeks out to tease his ear lobe. "You should definitely go."

But he doesn't go. They're losing time. Winding around each other, fully clothed and above the covers and there's something fizzing and languorous and entirely too seductive about the innocence of it all, even though he really should go.

She reminds him. He reminds her in broken of snatches of sentences. Longer and longer intervals between them as their kisses slow. As her breath deepens and he realizes that she's falling asleep. That _he's_ falling asleep, and it should be embarrassing, but it isn't. It isn't.

"Kate." He lands a sloppy kiss in the neighborhood of her ear. "Kate. I'm gonna go."

Her eyes flick open. She frowns. "Go?"

"Yeah." He manages to get it out. He hates himself, but he manages. "You're falling asleep on me here."

"Long day." She sighs. Her eyelids flutter closed again. One cracks open. "Days. God, Castle, has it been days?"

"Days. It's been days." He laughs softly. He kisses her forehead and weakens. "You could come with me. My room."

" _Castle."_ She buries her face against him. Her mouth opens against his neck in a yawn. It's a protest. It's case in point for why he really should _go,_ but it's not exactly helping.

He dips his head. Chases her mouth. He kisses her and means it. "You could come with me. We could be very, _very_ quiet."

"Maybe _you_ can." The words creep out on a whimper. She freezes. She pushes back and sweeps her hair behind her ear, trying for nonchalant. "I didn't say that."

"You definitely said that, Beckett." He straightens his arms. He holds her as far from him as he can without actually letting go. "And I . . . um . . . I should go. Right now. Because I kind of can't forget you just said that."

"Shut up." She blushes hard. Tries to twist away. "I _hate_ you."

He holds on tight. He won't let her get away. He can't. "I . . ."

His breath steals away somewhere. It's the only thing—the only thing in that instant—that keeps the words from spilling right out. _Not now. Not_ now _._ His head is screaming with it. She goes from writhing to still and this is a _mess._

"I _really_ don't hate you." Those are the words that come, and he's grateful it's no worse. He kisses her once more. He wills his legs to move, and somehow it happens. Somehow his feet are on the floor, and he's tugging the covers down. He's tapping at her hip and nudging her legs to pull them back up over her body. "I really don't, Kate."

She's gone quiet. Strangely meek as she lets him settle her, and he's worried. Not sorry, but worried.

He's turning to go, but she reaches up with quick fingers and tugs one sleeve, then the other. She sits halfway up and kisses him, hard and brief. There's enough panic in it that he can taste it, but she holds on a moment longer. Long enough to whisper two words before she lets him go.

"Me neither."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've included the deleted "cocoa" scene here. It comes right before Castle and Beckett's conversation about whether she wishes he'd never shadowed her or he wishes he'd never created Nikki Heat. It's a brief scene between Beckett and Alexis in which Alexis reveals that she makes her cocoa for Castle when he's had a really rough day. Beckett asks about when Alexis has a tough day. She says that Castle makes her pancakes. Castle enters at the end and Alexis tells him he just missed "girl talk."


End file.
